


Chu

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 17:34:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2476592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chekov’s ill and needs “help sleeping.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chu

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

“Suuluuuu,” He whines from somewhere under the covers, as though sounding like a five year old will serve him any better than sounding like a mature adult did. “It huuurts.”

“Well, that’s generally what happens when you’re sick,” Hikaru chirps back. Half the words in the middle come out muffled while he pulls his gold tunic over his head. He tugs it down once it’s on; it always seems just a little bit too short. He eyes himself in the mirror on the far wall, straightening everything into place so it doesn’t look as though he’s just rolled out of bed. Which he’s just done. Last night was grueling, sparring with everyone possible on the rec deck. Pavel, who was just then coming down with something, wasn’t able to make their usual fencing lesson. He pokes his head out of the blankets while Hikaru wanders back between their beds. There’s a stack of half-finished reports on his nightstand, and one of them’s due today.

“I can’t beliewe you’re leawing me,” Pavel grumbles. His voice is heavy, and Hikaru doesn’t have to look over to know he’s pouting. “Do you not understand how wery sick I am?”

“You got the day off, what more do you want?” Two of the PADDs are more for personal use, and they’re easy to pick out. Onto the third, Hikaru gingerly sits on the edge of his bed, sorting through files to have the right one up and ready. The more efficient he makes his route proposal, the more likely Mr. Spock is to accept it. When Pavel doesn’t answer, Hikaru takes the cue to glance sideways, and he has to bite his cheek to stop from laughing at Pavel’s adorably exaggerated glare. The bed rest has made his chestnut hair even more ridiculous looking than usual, and he’s worked his mouth practically into an upside down ‘v.’

“You should stay and make me feel better.”

Hikaru snorts.

Pavel’s eyes narrow. “In Russia, comrades newer leawe each other to die.”

This time, Hikaru can’t stop his laughter, although he does try his best to politely muffle it. It’s so very _Chekov_ to bring up Russia at a time like this, when absolutely nothing to do with Russia has been said. Hikaru knows it isn’t an even remotely true statement, but he settles on instead, eyebrows lifted and grin threatening to split his face, “You’re dying, are you? In that case, I guess I should call Dr. McCoy to take you back down to sickbay—”

“ _Hikar-uuuuu_ ,” Pavel instantly whines again, “How could you be so cruel?”

It’s all very distracting, but somehow, Hikaru still manages to find the file and pull it up for easy-access. He shakes his head and gets back to his feet, and Pavel sticks his hands out of the blanket, not quite able to reach far enough but vainly trying. Hikaru sidesteps it easily, headed for the door to their quarters. If he shows up early, he can have a few extra minutes to convince Mr. Spock that his route is at least two days faster than the computer’s recommended course. 

But then Pavel coughs, and Hikaru hesitates, glancing back at the bed. Pavel’s rolled over, watching Hikaru pitifully, and ungracefully rubbing his nose on his forearm. He stops coughing and sneezing long enough to beg, “Just help me _sleep_.” As though Hikaru’s a sandman with a pound of sleep-dust in his pocket. 

Hikaru, feeling oddly merciful, considers calling Dr. McCoy for an easy hypo to put Pavel right out until Hikaru’s shift ends. But something about Pavel’s cutely ruined face has Hikaru waiting. 

He makes up his mind in a split-second decision: perhaps this is a better opportunity than the report, career brownie points or no. In any case, Pavel’s _begging_ him, and even if Mr. Spock ever did magically resort to that, he still couldn’t possibly look as good doing it as Pavel does to Hikaru. Even with a runny, red nose and awful, sweaty hair. 

Hikaru’s crossed the floor in a heartbeat, the PADD absently tossed to a nearby table. He struts right around Pavel’s bed, grabs at the covers, and slips right under them, pushing Pavel back a few centimeters to avoid getting sweat and the stench of sickness all over his crisp uniform. Pavel grins smugly at him, and Hikaru’s too good-natured to pull away that victory. 

He reaches his hands down Pavel’s body, dipping right under the elastic waistband of the blue Starfleet issue pajama pants. Pavel gasps instantly and arches forward, eyes scrunching shut and mouth opening wide. This isn’t what he asked for. But it’s the best way Hikaru knows to tire Pavel out, and he can’t resist going for it when Pavel moans a heady, “ _Hikaru_...”

For once, Pavel doesn’t try to shuffle up and drape himself around Hikaru. They don’t curl into each other; Hikaru has work to do and Pavel’s clearly too weak to move. Hikaru takes full advantage. He pulls Pavel’s soft cock out of his pants, squeezes it once and soaks in Pavel’s groan. Then Hikaru’s pumping, using Pavel’s own sweat for lube, and the sweltering heat below the blankets has Hikaru burning up too. 

Pavel’s an easy thing. He always is. He’s young and inexperienced and incredibly over-eager, and he rocks his hips slowly into Hikaru’s hand, hard in seconds and stiffening more with every stroke. Hikaru treats him well, manipulates him expertly, corkscrews up and down and squeezes just right and thumbs over Pavel’s leaking tip. Pavel bows his head, trying to duck into Hikaru’s shoulder, hands feebly lying next to Hikaru’s chest. Hikaru can smell the raw musk in his hair; Hikaru will have to help him bathe later, when Dr. McCoy deems him well enough to leave the bed. For now, Hikaru brush a few clinging strands of brown hair aside and gently kisses his forehead. Pavel makes a weak moan and garbles Hikaru’s name again, clearly falling into delirium. 

It doesn’t take long for him to spill in Hikaru’s hand. He grabs onto Hikaru’s arm when he does, flushes impossibly red and jerks his hips forward. Hikaru makes soothing noises and pumps him out, careful to catch as much of it in his hand as possible so Pavel won’t have to sleep in sticky sheets. Pavel mutters something incoherent, probably in Russian, but Hikaru can imagine the gist. He pecks Pavel’s cheek and quietly promises, “I love you too.”

Then he extricates himself, pulling back out of the blankets, and Pavel’s too limp to stop him. Pavel’s panting for air and doesn’t move. Hikaru makes a pit stop to the bathroom to thoroughly wash off his hand. 

By the time he gets out, Pavel’s fast asleep. Or at least, his eyes are closed, his breathing’s even, and he isn’t bugging Hikaru anymore. Hikaru smiles fondly and comes back over to tuck him back into his pants under the blankets, settle the covers over him right, and brush his hair out of his eyes. He looks like a wreck, but a beautiful one. 

Hikaru finally makes it out the door with his report, but a part of him does wish he’d taken the day off too, if only to prove Russian enough for his mess of a sick lover.


End file.
